


‘Did you fucking do this to yourself?’

by jambon



Category: My Chemical Romance
Genre: Angst, Drabble, Drug Abuse, Frank POV, Frank is angry, Freeform, Hurt, Self Harm, Short, trigger warning
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-19
Updated: 2019-12-19
Packaged: 2021-02-26 19:14:28
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 703
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21853660
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jambon/pseuds/jambon
Summary: Gerard is not okay, so Frank has to be.Frank finds Gerard self harming, and it’s not the first time. But what can he do when his best friend is a shell of what he used to be, and nobody can get through?
Kudos: 20





	‘Did you fucking do this to yourself?’

**Author's Note:**

> UK Samaritans- 116 123  
> US hotline- 1 800 273 8255
> 
> your safety is the most important thing <3

‘Did you fucking do this to yourself?’ Frank spat into Gerard’s face as he pinned him against the wall, a wrist pressed flat on either side of him. At the lack of an answer, he pushes harder, sticky blood clotting beneath his fingers. ‘Fucking tell me Gerard.’ His voice breaks. ‘Please.’ Gerard says nothing, just squirms under his grip. His expression is pained, and it is that which makes Frank realise he is applying a strong amount of force into fresh wounds. Instantly, he drops his arms and takes a couple steps back before pacing in a circle. ‘Jesus christ Gee, like actually Jesus christ. What the fuck do you think you’re doing, huh? You could die, you could fucking die holed up in this stinking hotel room and none of us would be able to help you. You just don’t think do you? You never fucking think. You’re selfish and weak and pathetic. Why can’t you just fucking think?’ By the end of his speech, Frank is back up in Gerard’s face, flecks of spit mottling his too-pale skin with every word. The silence after is deafening, the only sound in the room the sound of blood dripping from Gerard’s slashed up arms onto laminate flooring.

Frank found Gerard bent over the sink, carving into his arms with a blade and shaking, in a trancelike state that his drugs brought on when he was nearing his limit. Of course, Frank knew Gerard’s drug habit was getting out of control; the whole band knew, but nobody wanted to be the one to break the silence and confront him about it, so the cycle continued. Still, he’d flushed the pills on the side down the loo and swept the remaining traces of cocaine off of the side. Better than nothing, he supposed.

Still, seeing the pale, emaciated figure now crouched on the floor in front of him, head in his hands, arms a mess of scars and fresh cuts, probably his legs too, even his chest if last month was anything to go by. Fuck, it was difficult to look at him and not give up hope. ‘What city are we in, Gerard?’ This was the test Frank always used to try and gauge how far gone he was. Gerard looked up, red rimmed eyes skating over his face before managing to make weak contact. ‘Um, Chicago?’ Frank nearly lost it, but managed to keep his cool, so cool that an icy undertone crept into his voice that even Gerard would understand the meaning of, even in his state. ‘No, Gerard, we haven’t been in America for weeks. We’re in the middle of Europe in the back end of nowhere, yet somehow you still managed to get hold of your shit. I’m almost impressed.’ A lazy smile crawled across Gerard’s ghostly face. Frank knee what was coming. With a final slow blink, his eyes rolled back into his head and Frank had to swoop in to keep his head from bashing against the floor and getting covered in his own blood.

Despite having been in the position many times before, having your drugged up friend lying unconscious and bleeding in your arms wasn’t something you ever get used to, Frank found. He ran his hand over the patchwork of red slashes, shakily exhaling. They wouldn’t need stitches, but were deep enough that they would need properly bathing, disinfecting and dressing. Sighing, Frank got to work on fixing up his friend. He knew what would happen: Gerard would wake up in a few hours, realising instantly what had happened. He would cry silently, genuinely believing nobody else would notice. He would stay sober for a day, maybe two, retreating further and further into himself until he snapped and found drink, found drugs again. And then it would only be a matter of time before he would end up half bleeding to death on a floor of a cheap hotel in a strange, foreign city. Frank and the rest of the band would try their best to get through to him, to no avail. So they grieved, for a friend who they lost again and again every day, until nothing would be left but a shell.

**Author's Note:**

> this is rough to read i know, and not just because it’s badly written lol, i just needed to get this stuff out of my head and onto (sort of) paper
> 
> if anyone needs a chat please dm / snap / tweet me @hannahhradley on all socials, always always open 
> 
> stay safe guys x


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